


Day 134

by icedteainthebag



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-23
Updated: 2009-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:03:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is dark and sad, please be forewarned. Laura isn’t in a happy place, and there is emotional turmoil—angst, anger, and sadness—mixed in with sexual situations. There is the implication that Laura was abused on New Caprica, though there’s no explicit description of abuse. I wrote this as a birthday present for <a href="http://untoldsarcasm.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://untoldsarcasm.livejournal.com/"><b>untoldsarcasm</b></a>. Happy birthday, dear friend. I just wrote you my most depressing story ever.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Day 134

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dark and sad, please be forewarned. Laura isn’t in a happy place, and there is emotional turmoil—angst, anger, and sadness—mixed in with sexual situations. There is the implication that Laura was abused on New Caprica, though there’s no explicit description of abuse. I wrote this as a birthday present for [](http://untoldsarcasm.livejournal.com/profile)[**untoldsarcasm**](http://untoldsarcasm.livejournal.com/). Happy birthday, dear friend. I just wrote you my most depressing story ever.

_**[bsg] Fic: Day 134**_  
 **Title:** Day 134   
 **Author:** [](http://icedteainthebag.livejournal.com/profile)[**icedteainthebag**](http://icedteainthebag.livejournal.com/)  
 **Pairing:** Roslin/Baltar/Caprica, Roslin/Adama   
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** through Exodus, part II  


x x x x

Pages 127 through 134 are blank.

-

Laura can feel Gaius’ eyes on her naked back as she runs her fingers down the smooth skin of Caprica’s face—like porcelain, like silk, and if the Cylons wanted perfection, they certainly created it in her.

Laura looks into deep blue eyes, and there’s something beyond the empathy that expresses itself so earnestly on the surface.

-

Laura had been released on day 133, the sixth day of her internment, and numbers—tallies of months, days, hours—whirled in her head in a desperate attempt to quantify, not qualify, her pain.

She’d sat alone on her cot in her tent, in the dark, and stared at the inside of the thin canvas walls. She couldn’t sleep that night, couldn’t eat the next morning.

She’d picked up her journal—the last page was 127.

She’d numbered six blank pages then, 128 through 133. _Quantify, not qualify._

The journal’s purpose was historical, yet history is as subjective as its historian.

This day was 134. She’d numbered it, her pen lingering on the paper, which sucked at the blue ink until she’d pulled the pen away and capped it. The entry was merely a fuzzy spot, an afterthought.

She’d left her tent and walked aimlessly, or so she'd led herself to believe. She’d lost track of herself on streets that were merely trails of dirt, the smell of damp earth and rot and waste strong in the air. This was their salvation once. She'd remembered when the sun used to shine, when all she had to do was count the stars at night until she fell asleep.

Until they fell asleep.

-  
 _  
“The apocalypse has happened once before.”_

 _“Yeah. And there was nothing you could do to stop it Bill, not then, not now. I mean let’s get real. Let’s get real. The Cylons come back, we’re dead. Disease strikes, we’re dead, earthquake, volcano, hurricane, today, tomorrow, five years from now, it’s… and you know what I’m saying? Life’s a bitch and then you die.”_

She remembers how they laughed then.

-

Colonial One feels like home even when settled on the ground.

This is its single, solitary comfort as she closes her eyes to the tug of slender fingers through her hair. _This is home_ , she tells herself as Caprica’s lips hover over her neck, as she feels the heat of a mouth against her skin.

Home. Gaius is behind her, his firm, warm chest against her back, and Caprica is in front of her, lean and soft and breathlessly whispering comforting secrets into her ear—she catches words and phrases, _significance, release, solace_. Gaius’ hands slip down Laura’s sides and settle on her hips. Her breath catches in her throat and Caprica’s mouth claims hers.

Laura feels suspended in the moment, suspended and floating as their lips brush— _significance, release, solace_ —and then she hungrily responds to this intrusion, her mouth open wide. Her teeth crash against Caprica’s, and the shiver it sends through her body is uninvited, but she welcomes it hesitantly, as if she shouldn’t be welcoming it at all.

It begins to fall so quickly, what she used to believe was her steadfast resolve, the resolve that’s been slowly eroding ever since she heard the raiders streak across the sky 134 days ago. It falls now, it crumbles into ruins, and it leaves her exposed, defenseless.

Laura tells herself, as this kiss deepens and she feels Gaius’ hand slide across her upper thigh, that things have changed, and changed irrevocably. _That makes this okay._

His hand slips between her legs and Laura moans against Caprica’s mouth, then twists her head sharply away to bury her face in the woman’s neck. She squeezes her eyes shut and gasps when his fingers enter her.

 _That makes this okay._

-

There was a time in the prison when she hated Bill for leaving, for abandoning all of them, for abandoning her.

On the ground, knees to her chest, her body had ached as the sun streaked through the bars of her cell. At that moment, she’d hated him for leaving her like that and hated herself for needing him to save her, to deliver her from this hell.

 _Significance, release, solace._

-

Laura’s hands read the soft, the hard, the most intimate spots of Caprica’s body as Gaius explores her own. This embrace—she hastens to call it something so affectionate—for a moment protects her from the world, and it’s been so long since she’s felt protected.

As they lie on the bed together, Laura finally stops asking herself questions— _why this, why now, why here_ —because she realizes she has no answers.

There’s a mouth on her neck and a mouth between her legs, she’s not sure whose is whose, and she doesn’t care. Her body rises to the sensation of tongue over her flesh, over her heat, over and over again. She whimpers in the back of her throat and clutches fistfuls of hair she finds at the apex of her thighs. She pulls hard, though she doesn’t want it to stop— _not really_ , she tells herself, _you don’t really_ —and Gaius groans into her and she feels a warm surge in her abdomen at the sound of his voice, at his low, growling approval as he laps harder, faster.

Caprica kisses her and Laura slides her tongue into her mouth, yet another point of connection. She feels Caprica's fingernails graze over her nipples, and Gaius is so insistent, so demanding, and her hips roll against him and her body shivers. It builds slowly, almost frustratingly slow, and she convinces herself that this ache is the cause of the tear that slips down her cheek.

Laura's eyelids flutter open and Caprica’s eyes are closed as they kiss. Relief floods over her briefly until she gives in to the unrelenting swirls of Gaius' tongue. She arches her back to the sudden, overwhelming jolt of pleasure that hits her all at once. She cries out against Caprica’s mouth and digs her fingernails into her back—she holds on tightly, afraid to let go.

-  
 __

 _“I think we should all look at every moment of every day from now on as borrowed time, and people should live the lives that they wanna live before it's over. Let's stop spending the little time we have left here worrying about when it's going to end."_

He had made love to her over those blankets, under the stars, on borrowed time.

-

Laura rolls off the bed before Gaius can lie down beside her. He lies beside Caprica instead—she catches this out of the corner of her eye as she reaches down slowly to gather her clothes, the air chillingly cold on her damp skin, tendrils of hair sticking to her neck.

“You can stay,” Caprica says.

Laura doesn’t turn around. She tugs on her underwear and her pants with her back turned to them, slips on her bra, shrugs on her sweater. Her heart is pounding in her chest. “No, I can’t,” she whispers.

-

She sits alone on her cot in her tent, in the dark, and stares at the inside of the thin canvas walls. She couldn’t sleep the night before, couldn’t eat this morning.

She picks up her pen.

-

Bill’s arms around her feel safe and welcome, his body lining hers protectively, his breath on the back of her neck. She’s studying shapes in the darkness of his quarters, their bodies damp and still and together, still together. The comfort in it is rooted in bonds long held, broken, and newly reunified.

“What happened, Laura?”

These are the words in her ear.

She’s motionless as her throat constricts, tightens around words unspoken, until she reminds herself to breathe.

She closes her eyes and doesn’t answer.

She pretends he thinks she’s sleeping.

-

135\. When you come upon these pages, there are words best left unwritten, feelings best left inside. I don’t hate you, Bill, for leaving us behind. I’ll rebuild these walls, as I always do, and maybe someday, after we escape, we’ll live that life we want to live.

Today I start rebuilding in hope of your return.

  



End file.
